


Regret

by carmenta



Series: In Hindsight [1]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - Rice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-01
Updated: 2000-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armand reflects on the creation of Daniel and the development of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

It is never easy to explain the past. Only afterwards one can understand it fully, and all attempts at rationalizing it become hollow. Wisdom comes with age, true; it does not come from looking back, but from accepting what has happened and dealing with the consequences.

Impossible to think about the future, that faraway night that might never come. All that had counted had been the here and now, the cold, cold reality. The soft vibrating of the plane, the humming of the motors. Rattled breathing coming from the small bed that looked so artificial, white sheets against white plastic. The face that rested against the pillow equally colorless, cheeks hollow, features sharpened a little from not eating properly for a long period. Alcohol could not sustain a mortal.

He would die, there was no chance that he would live another week in this condition. Starved, poisoned by fluids that ate at his organs. Any peace of mind completely gone. Too far on the path to death already to turn around still.

The decision had been hard, but then there had not been a choice. Armand should have known that he would finally have to give in, when he was faced with the certain loss of the mortal he wanted, needed. Whom he loved, too much to simply bring him through the gateway to the other side of death.

Admitting that he was afraid of losing Daniel, that he loved him too much to let him go, had somehow been the worst. Draining him, giving him the blood and growing weaker while feeling the delicious suckling at his throat, had not been nearly as bad. The decision had already been made then, his conscience was not clean any longer.

Tears had welled up in his eyes as he realized that he could not put it off any longer, that he would lose his Daniel to death if he hesitated still. The old vow would have to be broken. To whom did you make that vow? Daniel had asked. To himself, of course. Breaking it was the worst betrayal, and the easiest. And he had done it, out of fear and love and guilt and need, knowing that he could not let his companion of twelve years leave yet.

And now, where were they? Separated once again, not able to stand each other's company for elongated periods of time. They had chosen to part when it had seemed so sure that once the one reason for fights was gone, the one issue that lay at the base of all the others, they would be able to be together at last. So easily deceived. Armand had already known centuries ago that fledgling and master were alien to each other, that the silence could suffocate all love. How convinced he had been of it when he had told Lestat, glorious Lestat who would never listen, and who had learned the truth only when his children had turned against him, plunging a knife into his heart.

No knife had been needed to separate Armand from Daniel. No violence, they had just drifted apart with time, without struggling to keep a hold on each other. Perhaps this was how it was supposed to happen, the gentle art of letting go. Armand could be proud then, having successfully raised a fledgling and released him in the freedom and independence Daniel so craved.

Still he missed him, needed to know that his beloved child was alive. His only fledgling, the first and last Armand had ever made. Never again. There was no chance that he would be able to defy his conscience another time. If Daniel had been a mistake, he would not repeat it.

But of course the fledgling was no mistake. Ridiculous to think so. Armand regretted giving him the Blood, felt remorse every time he lay eyes on the face that was no longer pale from sickness but from the working of the blood.

They had to live their own lives, both of them. And perhaps, after a decade, a century, they would be able to start anew. Together.


End file.
